


in names and deeds

by Breakmybones (CarterReid)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Feels, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:14:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21853537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarterReid/pseuds/Breakmybones
Summary: Will had a life before this one. He was a knight, then. Sworn to protect and to serve.Sworn to another.Sworn to Tristan.
Relationships: Galahad/Tristan (King Arthur 2004), Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	in names and deeds

Galahad was only seventeen when Tristan took him for the first time.

They were both young and eager and foolishly chose the barely mucked out stable just out of sight of the rest of the knights. They were frenzied and Galahad a touch too loud as he let Tristan take him apart over and over until his skin seemed to sag on his frame; just ill-fitting enough for the older man to crawl inside and make himself a home. They were gone long enough for Gawain to get concerned. Concern turned to shock turned to hilarity and he cackled at the pair, tangled in the straw, propping himself up on wall as he wheezed in humour. Galahad bared his teeth in a snarl from his place beneath Tristan: as fierce as he was lovely. That, unfortunately, only made his brother laugh harder; cheeks pinking and lips turning glossed red with spittle as he roared.

"Finally got my brother to shut up, eh Tristan?" he'd crowed, wiping his eyes and turning away, calling out in amusement to Bors, no doubt sharing the story. The men both knew that the rest of the Knights would know in a heartbeat. And they did. They leered and cackled at the limp the blue eyed youth sported for the next two days, and nothing he could do - no threats nor the press of steel against their throats would silence them.

They jeered again a week later when it was Tristan who walked a little bowlegged.

It was only when a summer had passed and he and Tristan were still so desperately entwined in one another that the jabs quieted. The Knights had finally realised that Galahad had no intention of letting Tristan go, nor did Tristan intend to let his pup wander astray and find another man to warm his furs. Their jibes turned softer then, still brutish but kinder too. Bors would speak of Tristan's wife. Lancelot would tell wandering eyes of eager girls that Galahad was spoke for.

They never shared beyond their circle of brothers that the pair were each other's. Romans were more callous than Sarmatians and such dedication to another man would be unbecoming, they said. Galahad learned the hard way when a wet-behind-the-ears soldier caught he and Tristan rutting like animals a few streets from the inn, too heady with ale to fully understand they weren't within the safe walls of their quarters. The boy had drawn his sword and had Tristan been even a breath slower, the man would have left the plain at the hands of a child. Galahad killed him, of course, but the fallout was difficult. Arthur had urged them, _commanded them_ , to be careful. Much more careful. 

Summers died into winters and frosts melted for the springs. Still their bond endured.

It endured all. It survived fever and chills; starvation and plenty; fear and hope; a knife in the chest, a kiss so bruising they could taste it for hours. For thirteen years, Galahad loved. For thirteen years Tristan loved in return. They spoke of home, of Sarmatia, and the life they would have together. How they would take in orphans from the wars, keep them safe from Rome. Galahad, Tristan said lovingly, did so adore the stray, helpless things amongst them.

Then came Bishop Germanus, and more Saxons than Galahad had ever _seen_ , and an alliance with the Woads he thought impossible after the blood they had spilt. Then Dagonet, lying dead on the ice, blood pooling around the arrows splitting his armour. Through rage and Arthur's stubbornness and the knowledge of what was coming. 

Then came Badon Hill. 

Galahad remembered little.

He remembered the acrid smoke filling his lungs and burning his throat. He remembered the clamour of the Saxon war-drums drowning out the sound of blood in his ears. He remembered feeling _powerful_. A **free** man. His lover by his side, a quirk of a smile on his lips, a promise in the kiss he'd bestowed upon him not moments earlier.

Then it blurred.

It became thick mud and the stench of death. Bodies turned to piles of flesh beneath his blade. Tristan piercing bone and meat with his arrows, twisted pleasure and focus on his face. The screams of the dying and the echoes of the dead, piling up around them. A wall of decay sinking into the bowels of Britannia. She, a merciless mother, pulling both her children and the invaders deep into herself. It was nothing more than the ache in his arms as he sung his sword and the heat of fires around him. Of rasping, desperate breath, pleading for clear air to fills his chest so he could slay more beneath the skies now blackening with smoke. Tristan was by his side, as always: graceful and ruthless. Showing the Saxons why they were right to fear Arthur's Knights. Showing them that killing was an art to them now - they old hats at the game of death, they his servants, felling enough souls to burst Hades open. Together, fighting, caked in blood and shit, but together. 

Then Galahad lost him, in the chaos. Gone from his side and only as Galahad felled his opponent did he catch sight of his heart falling to his knees before the Saxon king.

The blue eyed man was screaming. A fierce guttural sound that shook the battlefield. He moved as quickly as he could, desperate to reach Tristan. Desperate to stop the downward swing of the blade.

Arthur reached the man before he did, but not in time. 

The sound of kissing steel was deafening, but Galahad only fell to his knees and howled, Tristan clutched close. Eyes open, lips slightly parted, bloody and still. 

Gawain told him later it took five of them to pull him away, and not even knowing his love had been avenged eased the dark part inside him fully prepared to burn down the world.

In the end, they buried him with the others. Arthur wed his Woad, but not before shaking his head, telling Galahad not to come. Even he knew that flaunting a union before a grieving lover would be crass. Galahad heard the shouts though, the celebrations ringing through the air. He clutched tighter to his pitcher of ale, leaning back against Tristan's burial mound. 

"We'll be together again, love," he swore, tears puncturing his words. "In whatever life the Gods see fit to give us." A pause and a long, spluttering drink. "In Samartia, in Britannia, even in Rome. I'd follow you anywhere." He sobbed. "I'd follow you now," he breathed, "but the Gods would've let me perish beside you if that were my fate. I shall endure until they reunite us."

A sound skywards, and there, just above the trees: Isolde.

"I'll see you soon, Tristan. I swear."

And, over 1500 years later, in the dingy office belonging to one Jack Crawford, Galahad did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I literally posted this so it wouldn't be deleted from my drafts bit (sorry for anyone hoping for any sort of quick update, I'm super useless atm). -R.


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